


Rarest and Most Radiant

by violetarcher



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, it's good to be the king's mongrel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetarcher/pseuds/violetarcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only the best will do for the king's mongrel. Written for Gilhakuno for the Fate Secret Servant exchange on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rarest and Most Radiant

A quiet morning at Sigat and Co., Sibun thinks to himself and smiles. Everyone busy on the final day of Zaggari, preparing for tonight’s feasting and parades. All gifts brought, all customers satisfied. One appointment only, late in the morning, and an early holiday closing. Handsome profits to bring the company flush into the new year: his mother will be very pleased.

Everyone rustles around in quiet contentment, starting the day. Sibun takes his first sip of zijiga, sighing happily. Then the strange man walks through the front door.

Against their tastefully dim interior he looks like a wayward chunk of the sun, swathed in an oversized coat of white manjil fur and cloth-of-gold brocade; his hair wreathes his head like glittering flame. He looks at no one and he is heading straight for the back and for Zibun’s office. 

Chisebo tries valiantly but his repeated “Sir, sir, do you have an appointment?” bounces off the stranger’s back. Everyone else is stone-still, staring, struck dumb. As Ninsal’s foremost jewelers they are used to odd clientele, arrogant clientele: royalty from far-flung sectors, magnates of all stripes, clients who boast the collective income of six planets and their own personal blackholes, beings wealthy and powerful beyond compare, but something about this man demands awed silence and nervous distance.

Sweat trickles down Zibun’s back. _I must not…mother will be very…_

Zibun rises just as the man throws open his door and walks inside: golden light dances along his windows and casts sparks across the floor. “I seek the woman known as Induanna Sigat,” the man says, and his voice is molten gold too, to match the rest of him. “I wish—” he says, and sneers just a little, “to make a purchase. I have need of a gift.”

“Induanna—my mother—is off planet at the moment. I am Zibunna Sigat and in her place I will be happy to assist you in your need,” he says and his voice is strong and firm, as if he speaks to the most ordinary of customers, and not to a man who sheds the light of the sun around him and yet has the crimson eyes and general air of a bardery snake.

_Atabolta? They have slit-pupiled eyes like that, but they also have pointed ears and horns and dress quietly. Maybe he’s a Luja, but I’m pretty sure they have six arms. Whatever he is…I know I’ve never, ever, seen or heard of anything like him before in my life._

_He’s…really, really beautiful._

The man waves a dismissive hand and sits, unasked, in the chair before Zibun’s desk. “I care not which peasant waits upon me. I asked for Induanna simply because she rules here and is known for her knowledge and skill with jewels. I have need of a gift for my mongrel and it must be superlative. She has been showing unacceptable twinges of melancholy of late—why I do not know, my presence alone should enough to fill any heart with joy, especially the heart of one so honored and privileged as she—and nothing I have given her for this third-rate excuse for a celebration has caused her to even slightly glow with pleasure. Gratitude as is proper, yes. Pleasure, no.” He frowns and taps a long slender finger, adorned with a golden ring of strange, bulky cut, on the armrest of the chair. “Well. It has been only six months now, and she is stubborn. There must be something that will tempt her to pleasure and whatever it is, I shall discover it.”

There must have been a glitch in the translation software: Zibun must have misheard him. “Your…did you say mongrel, sir…?”

“She insists on maintaining plain ways, plain clothes, plain looks,” the man continues as if Zibun hadn’t spoken. “All of the best quality of course, but _plain_. She has everything at her fingertips and yet she clings to a caterpillar’s drab shell instead of bursting forth into the radiance more suitable to her station. She is my master and should look the part, _live_ the part. But no. She lets that cedar-colored hair of hers—long, thick, soft hair that should be dressed with sweet oils and fine jewels—flop unadorned over her thin little shoulders—also bare of jewels and silks—and wears the dreariest clothing in the entire universe. And when I justly complain to her, she tells me that sumptuous clothing and precious jewels ‘just isn’t her!’” 

The man’s face is flushed, his eyes brilliant as rubies. His words cascade onto Zibun like an avalanche, smothering all chance at reply. “Have you ever heard the like? The master of the first and most absolute king claims that she wants to flit about in the guise of a wren rather than that of an eagle. Instead of a glorious bird of prey she pretends at being a mindless grey ball of fluff. It is outrageous. I will not stand for it. I have lowered myself to journey here because I have heard that you alone possess the finest and most precious jewels in this sector of the galaxy. Therefore, you must present me with that which is rarest and most radiant so that I might tempt my mongrel’s dull little heart.”

There is much that Zibun wants to say— _what are wrens and eagles, if this man is a king how can someone else be his master and why in the gods’ names does he call her a mongrel if she’s someone important to him_ —but nothing he can say. So he brings the catalogs forth silently and his strange client begins to flip through them, turning up his nose at some of the galaxy’s finest gems as if they are no more than rubble and dust.

“No. No. I have far better in my own vaults. If I wanted commonplace emeralds and diamonds, I would have stayed on the far side of the moon. Hmmph, that one would be better if it were far larger. Those are fit only for pigs. I will take these, but for my use only: they are quite a nice shade of gold.” 

Six thick books flipped through and discarded in space of ten minutes. Even though he has just ordered a small fortune in rare gems, the man’s scowl is deep. “None of these are suitable. Are you quite certain you have nothing else available?”

“Sir, the jewels in those catalogs are all that we have on offer, the best in the Qualilondia sector—“

“They are not the best, else I would have found my gift amongst them.” The man leans forward until he is a bare inch from Zibun’s nose, his eyes glittering like sunlight on deep red wine. His smile is like sharp metal and he smells of gold and spices and wine. “Are you certain that you have nothing more to offer?” the man pursues softly. “Something quite exclusive? Something that might justly be described as fit for a queen? Perhaps you were not listening before when I said that I desired that which is most radiant and rare. ”

Zibun’s heart hammers wildly in response. _He can’t mean…_

“My master’s heart is soft,” the stranger continues in the same quiet tone, “Gentle and susceptible to tragedy. It is her great weakness, but someone must oppose me—or rather balance me, I suppose. If the legends are true, she will seek to free them. It would bring her happiness. And undoubtedly the queen and her people would be far happier laying against my mongrel’s warmth than shut away in the cold darkness of a vault.” 

_He can’t possibly be serious. There’s no way he could ever afford it. Right? I mean, he looks really rich and claims to be a king, but we know every ruler from here to Pashmallawaht, and he’s not among them. Could be just another curiosity seeker talking a big game to try and get a look at the Star—or a thief. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe he’s hiding a vibro or a valkry under that huge coat and he’ll put it to my throat and then…_

_Gods, I wish Mother was here._

Zibun licks his dry lips and rallies himself. “Sir,” he says, and is childishly pleased by how casual and steady his voice is, “if by any chance you are referring to the Star of Nyosk…well, it is true that we at Sigat and Co. have been granted the honor of possessing that particular artifact for the last century. However, you must understand that the Star is considered, ah, unavailable.”

“Oh?” the client says. That unnerving smile returns to his face. “That is not what I had been led to believe.”

Zibun falters at that smile. “Ah. Well. When I say it is ‘unavailable’, I meant simply that the price we are asking for it is so high that no one being could possibly afford it.”

“ _I,_ ” the man says, “can afford it.”

“You couldn’t possibly—“ Zibun blurts, all his composure gone. “Sir, there are _planets_ that couldn’t afford it even if they paid with their total income for fifty years!”

The man gives him a look of complete disdain and pushes his credit card over the desk with the tip of his gleaming finger. “Oh? You are questioning the word of a king? Look for yourself, mongrel, and be astounded.”

When the reports come back, Zibun stares in them in silence for several minutes. _He’s telling the truth, he’s completely telling the truth, he has enough credit to buy the Star five times over, ye gods, ye gods, what is he? And what the hell will mother say when she finds out that I’ve gone and sold the Star?_

_On the other hand, with the money from the sale we could probably close up shop right now, head straight to the pleasure beaches of Lokanniya and live there for the rest of our lives…_

Visions of fruit drinks, over-flowing wine fountains and scantily-clad bathers dance suddenly in Zibun’s head. _For once, we could live like kings, instead of serving them._

“The shock on your face was payment enough for your insolence, so I suppose I shall forgive you,” the man—Gilgamesh Lugal--says languidly. His odd smile flickers over his lips again and then vanishes. “You are very young, mongrel and that bewildered innocence of yours reminds me, ever so faintly, of my own mongrel…but even so, you should know by now that there are things beyond what you can see with your frail mortal eyes.” He stands. “Enough of this. Process my payment and take me to the Star.”

_Sir, you are the scariest being I have ever met but it has been a_ pleasure _doing business with you._

Once the credits have been safely transferred, Zibun calls the guards. Quietly, he leads Mr. Lugal down through sub-basement after sub-basement to the lowest vault: the one with five thick doors of tempered sedea, the strongest metal in the galaxy, the one that has not been opened in decades. They stand together in darkness as Zibun places the Star in the man’s slender hands and even _he_ goes quiet when the light of that long-ago planet fills the vault with a shimmering rainbow of light.

 

When Gilgamesh returns to their apartment, his mongrel is sitting on the couch in the entertainment room, head bent over a book, so deep in her reading that she fails to notice his arrival. _What cheek. Am I now so commonplace that my entry is of no significance to her? If it was anyone else, I would tear them in two…but mongrels like her do not grow upon trees._

Today she wears a simple grey dress, of fine material but plain cut; her hair falls over her shoulders in two thick wings, unstyled, unornamented. He scowls and once again pictures her with the elaborate braids and golden adornments of a proper woman; the robes of wine-colored silk laying softly against her pale skin, the jewels and gauds that proclaim her as the only being in existence fit to stand beside him. A sigh escapes him. Suitably dressed, she would be the very image of an ideal Master, the one and only Master he will ever acknowledge until the end of time.

_If she would only allow her outer appearance to match her inner self the stars themselves would weep at her glory._

Hakuno looks up suddenly and smiles, snapping the thread of his thoughts. “Huh, and where have you been all this time with your hair standing up like that? Trying to intimidate someone?” 

“I have been engaging in acts unworthy of a king for your pleasure,” he says and runs a hand through his hair so it resumes its softer, more casual style. “Be grateful. I have something for you.”

She purses her lips, just a little and he glares at the nerve of her. _Ungrateful wench. Have I not showered you again and again with fine, rich things? Even if you did not seem terribly taken with them, it is the thought that counts!_ “Another gift? If it is, please tell me that you finally got rid of that awful coat.”

“Your complete lack of taste continues to be deplorable, but I am in such a good mood I shall overlook the insult for now,” he says and walks to the light switch. “Behold.”

He presses the button and Master and room vanish before him. “Okaaaay,” Hakuno says after a minute. “Your gift is the dark? Something lurking in the dark? Gil, if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not going to work. I can still see you, you know: you glimmer.”

“It is not the dark, fool of fools but something best set off by the dark.” He sits beside her and takes her hands in his, turning them palm up to form a cup for the box. “Open it slowly.”

“Now I’m really getting concerned,” she grumbles, but does as instructed. The ribbon and good-luck charms fall away to land on his knee; paper crinkles. Her small fingers fumble over the catch: he smiles and waits. There is a click and suddenly their bodies are tattooed with brilliant points of light. 

“Gilgamesh,” she says in a distinctly unsteady tone as she turns the pendant carefully in her hands, “you _didn’t_.” His mongrel’s face is jeweled, illuminated like one of the fanciful drawings in a medieval breviary; her amber eyes swim with rainbows. 

“Of course I did.”

“This is—“

“Yes. You seemed so taken with the story that I thought I would indulge your fancy.”

“ _You brought me a planet?_ The Star of Nyosk? Gil,” she whispers, “there are people in here!”

“So the legends say.” He has not been so amused in months: Hakuno’s shocked face is perfection itself and the best gift he could have ever asked for.

“Gil…I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I can’t believe this, but why I am shocked by anything you do anymore? Hah.” She cradles the pendant as carefully as an egg, as in some respects it is. “It’s heavy for its size. But I guess that makes sense, right? ‘In the old days, in the days of the Great Ones, there was born a queen, covered in glory, shining like ten suns. She was called ‘Nanandriya’, ‘The Ever-Living’ and ruled her people in grace and wisdom, driving away all wickedness and sin with the light of her majesty. All were content. Until the day came when a mighty evil from beyond the stars descended upon Nyosk—‘ “

He takes up the skein of the story: “—Even the queen in all her power and glory could not defeat the evil. Nor could she allow it to lay waste to her beloved people, to her planet, and in her need she dared an ancient and powerful magic—“

“—And so Queen Nanandriya cast her spells and wove her bindings and turned the planet into a jewel, sealed in crystal, forever beyond the reach of the evil. But once cast, the spells could not be reversed. Now Nyosk and all its glories drift in space, a cradle for the sleeping queen and her people, an untroubled jewel, a light in the darkness, a peace forever unbroken,” Ruka finishes and falls silent. “You know, Gil…the jewel was found drifting around right in the area where the legends say Nyosk once was. And the space around it is empty. Not like a black hole. Just empty, as if the stars all vanished.”

The king shrugs. “Perhaps the legends are true, but well do I know how legends can become distorted over time. There may be a sleeping queen inside; there may not be. But who knows?” He takes the pendant from her trembling hands and fastens it around his mongrel’s slim throat. Her skin is delicate and warm, the lines of her throat pure and strong. Treasure of treasures, hunting bird, bird of prey, his one and only Master until the end of time.

He touches the pendant where it lays over her heart, and Hakuno’s eyes look into his, startled and grave. “If you continue to strengthen and learn, there might come a day, my mongrel, when your powers will grow great enough to break the spell and set Nyosk free. Maybe then you will finally realize that you are an eagle and not a wren, since your place at my side does not seem to be proof enough for you.”

Ruka blinks at him. “Eagles and wrens? What are you talking about? And a third-rate mage like me breaking the spell on Nyosk…that’s not…huh.” Hakuno stops, chews her lip, then looks up at him, her pale face solemn. “I want to say ‘that’s completely impossible!’ but here I am living with a legend myself. We killed a god. I’m a digital ghost that by all rights should never have awakened as a person.” She laughs, dryly and lays a gentle hand over the pendant: the light glows through her skin and dyes it all the colors of the rainbow. “Free Nyosk? Why not! Who the hell am I to say ‘that’s completely impossible!’ ”

_She is finally beginning to understand_ , he thinks and smiles at her: his rarest smile, one of simple pleasure and joy. “Come then, my mongrel,” he says and takes her by the hand, pulling her off the couch. “Let us go feast and then we shall show the peasants of this planet how a King and his Master make merry!”

“Wait! I want to get changed into something a little more festive if we’re going out. Grey’s okay for sitting at home, but not for a party. Um, do you think I could borrow those hair clips from the vault? The ones with all the rubies? If I’m toting the Star around, I should probably dress to match, right?” 

Hakuno disappears towards her rooms after collecting her bounty from his vaults: the ruby clips in hand, bangles cascading down her arms and three golden chains that had once graced the neck of a goddess draped about her white throat, framing the Star. 

Watching her transformation, Gilgamesh laughs and shakes his head. It is nothing short of miraculous, but is it not that she is nothing short of miraculous, his mongrel, his Master, his brightest jewel?

“Had I known the Star would bring such rapid improvement,” he calls after her, “I would have brought it for you months ago!”


End file.
